


The Moon Circus

by Cycian



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Love Triangle, Modern AU, circus AU, pretty much the whole crew is here, sorta college au I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cycian/pseuds/Cycian
Summary: Le Cirque D'Andromède is in town, with its newest creation, the moon circus ! Angela Ziegler, a swiss med student, will have her life turned upside down, in the most artistic way. With her faithful friends, a british gay mess, a sleep deprived korean and a good dose of coffee, Angela will try to unveil the mystery behind Moira O'Deorain, while trying to resist Amari's charm.





	The Moon Circus

She was tired. Undeniably tired. Under her eyes were bags larger than those she had packed when leaving Switzerland, in her hand, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee. Her hand had cramps from holding her pen for so long. 

“Ziegler, we need you at the drive-through!” Yelled her boss in her shitty earpiece, which matched her equally shitty fast-food uniform.   
She nodded, running over to her post.  
“Good evening! Have you made a choice yet?” She asked, trying her best to sound welcoming and happy. Her French was perfect, from the accent to the pronunciation. Perks of being Swiss.  
Even if she had barely slept in three days, even if she got the shakes from her caffeine high. She had just gotten back from her college, where she was studying the medical arts, she barely had the time to trade her blouse and skirt for an orange and bright yellow uniform, she was already getting yelled at by five different persons.   
Angela Ziegler kept her voice even and joyful for the rest of the evening. 

“Good evening! Have you made choice yet?” Her throat was dry, she was tired, and her voice slightly raspy, yet her interlocutor did not seem to mind in the slightest. Excited babbles of children could be heard, chanting ‘circus’ with enough energy to bring a melancholic smile to Angela’s lips.   
She remembered, when her little world was covered in snow, as her parents, holding her hands, stood by her sides, leading her to the circus. She fondly recalled the feel of her mother’s hand against her gloved one, or how her father laughed when he gave her piggyback rides. 

She was brought back to the moment by her colleague, Hana, who looked at her with compassion. Decembers always were trying times for Angela since her parents had passed away. Sighing sadly, she resumed working, trying to keep herself focused. 

Her service had finally ended, after dragging out slowly like a dying snail trying to reach its final destination. She simply could not wait to take a shower and pass out on her couch with some silly TV show playing in the background. On her way out, she waved goodbye at Hana, who was in charge of the night shifts.   
It was pretty cold outside, but Angela had had worse. Plus, she welcomed the freezing breeze like an old friend, as it seemed to dance with her blond hair.   
Angela Ziegler liked the calm, she checked her phone, it was almost midnight. She hurried back to her apartment. If she liked the Lyon nights, she certainly was much less fond of the dangerous back alleys.

She opened the door to her small lair. It was nothing fancy, but given the fact that she was living in the third arrondissement, right next to the docks, she was lucky. It had a living room with a kitchenette, a decently sized sofa who could serve as a bed in case Lena got in trouble with her girlfriend, Emily.   
Angela’s room was small, but efficient. A small bed, a bedside table drowning in books, notes, and a glass of water that had been sitting there for way too long to be drinkable. There also was a small desk, equally messy, with a small plant, which she lovingly named Freud, for she loved to pour water on little green Freud, chanting ‘drown, drown’.   
She let her bag fall to the ground, as she kicked her shoes off, jumping on the sofa, turning on TV, as she stared at the ceiling.   
Lord, was she tired. 

She eyed the pack of cigarettes on her table. Lena gave them to her, as a ‘thank you’ for letting her stay over a week. Angela was not a smoker, not a regular one, but she could use something to take the edge off, and the smell of fast food oozing from her made her too nauseas to drink any of the cheap liquor she kept stashed in her cupboard.   
Grabbing a cigarette, she opened her window, pulling a lighter from the empty ashtray sitting on the windowsill.   
As she was smoking, her mind wandering, paying no attention to the political debate in the background, a blaring noise echoed through the street, she almost dropped her cigarette.

“What is that?” She muttered, leaning over the railing to see what was going on.  
“Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Le Cirque D’Andromède is in town! Head over to Place Bellecour, and witness the impossible! Under the big top, you shall find us! Our first representation is going to be public, and completely free!” Enthusiastically spoke man in a megaphone. He was standing atop a car, which was blaring an obnoxiously loud circus music. He waved a top hat around. 

Angela chuckled, he had cliché long moustache, a white cane and a black tailcoat, complimenting his pristine white shirt.   
The med school student checked her phone. Lena could definitely use something fun to do tonight. She called her, the brit answered almost right away.  
“What’d’ya need, Angie?” Asked Lena, upbeat as ever.   
“There’s a circus in town, first night sounds free. Want to check it out ? Bellecour isn’t that far from your place, is it?” Angela was already stripping for her shower, holding her phone with one hand, letting the cigarette fall down.   
“Please, I live in Bronc, that’s right next to the Jean Masset train station. I’ll be over in a second, meet me there!” Chirped Lena cheerfully.   
“I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll meet you at the station. Bring popcorn!”   
“Will do!”   
Angela hung up, before getting in her shower. She felt all the stress of the day wash off pleasantly. Sure, she was still tense, but she got used to this weight on her shoulders a long time ago.   
As soon as she was out of the shower, she tried to figure out what she was going to wear. Was it going to be casual, or classy? She had like, one good dress, and that was it. Her paycheck didn’t really cover much over the essentials. 

She ultimately decided that she was too lazy to dress up, plus Lena had seen her at her worst caffeine-fueled extravaganza at 4 AM, trying to turn a semester of slacking around. She opted for dark jeans, a blue top which really brought out her eyes, and some light mascara and eyeshadow, just to pretend she actually made an effort.   
TV: turned off. Purse: Grabbed. Makeup: On.   
Ready to roll. 

The streets were pretty calm for the 3rd district, which was known to house some of the city’s poorest students and people who didn’t have enough money to move to the suburbs.   
Still, it was a nice place. She lived Rue De Marseille, where shops almost never closed, except during Ramadan, where everything was quiet during the day, but so lively during the night ! Children playing soccer in the dead of night, under their mothers’ and the moon’s supervision. Teens smoking on the docks, carving their names in every available surface, or graffitiing the walls. Lena was a pro at that. Her nickname, ‘Tracer’, was almost everywhere in the borough, to her utmost pride.   
The train station was her favourite. The brit liked to go on trains, especially when she had no idea where they were headed, and just leave. Emily hated that, she once had to get Lena back from Valence, the brit still had not lived that one down. 

Angela ran up the stairs to Jean Macé, where Lena was laying on a bench, watching something on her phone, kicking her crocs-clad feet in the air.  
“Hi there!”   
“’Sup Angie!” The brit greeted her with a hug.   
“When’s the train getting here?” Asked the blonde, sitting on the bench, as her friend let her feet lay on her lap.   
“Shouldn’t be too long now, I s’pose.” Lena looked as tired and dead inside as Angela, she too had to work a part time job, but it was far less classic than Angela’s.   
“How are things?” Miss Ziegler knew that Lena did not exactly enjoy bringing her adventures as a ‘criminal’ (after all, poor Lena Oxton wouldn’t hurt a fly).   
“They’re good, Jalel and I just lounged up in the HQ all day, not much traffic. Even enough time to actually turn in my assignment in time, for the first time like, ever!” Jalel, Lena’s boss, was a dear, but was not to be messed with. He was like a teddy bear which would turn in an actual bear if provoked. He /adored/ his assistant, and always made sure not to drag her into overly dangerous tasks.   
“Sounds great! But I am afraid your professor might have a heart attack when she realises that you were actually one time, for once.” Lena was studying animation, and her art teacher, in spite of her appreciation for the very much loveable brit, was growing more and more exasperated each time she turned assignment in late. Her current high score was two months late, she had had to dodge the teacher’s incessant calls, emails, and even had to hide in the boys’ bathroom to escape the animation teacher’s wrath.   
“Are we going by TGV, or are we going the wild way?” Asked Lena, knowing fully well that there were no TGVs scheduled for the day, only trains carrying merchandise or materials for the ever-expanding city that was Lyon.

“Wild way, I imagine.” Grinned the blonde, cracking her knuckles.   
Lena started stretching, before a distant light warned them of the train arriving.   
Angela sucked in a shallow breath, she had gotten slightly used to it, but before the big jump, she always got stressed out. Lena took her hand, squeezing reassuringly.   
They stepped back a bit, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The Brit whistled, and the two girls broke into a sprint, jumping on the train. Angela looked down as she jumped, it felt like time itself had slowed down, the tracks moving fast beneath her feet. 

In this moment, she felt everything, the wind in her hair, the blood hammering her temple, the adrenaline running wild in her veins, just like the train speeding through the city.   
She landed on her knees, but she didn’t feel any pain. She just felt relief and joy.  
“Not bad, Angie!” Yelled Lena, barely audible over the wind rushing around them.   
The blonde giggled in response, grabbing Lena’s extended hand, pulling her to her feet. She opened her arms against the wind pushing against her.   
“Wooohoo!” The tiredness in her bones left, replaced with cheerfulness. Lena imitated her, the two of them started a screaming contest, knowing that nobody could hear them.   
They screamed in unison, in their heads, they screamed against mean bosses, late nights on papers they knew were going to be awful, failed romances, against a world that kept trying to bury them, yet, here they were: on a train, in the middle of the nights, surrounded by the city’s lights coming from the cafés, the rooftops lit with fairy lights. 

Once their voices had died down, it was almost time to get off the train.  
“Part-Dieu’s in view!”   
They got to the opposite side of their wagon, trying to avoid the pieces of wood firmly held by metal chains.   
As soon as the platform was in sight, they ran and jumped. Their landing was not exactly smooth or elegant, but they managed just fine, rolling onto the unclean ground of the C platform.   
Luckily, there was no one in sight. They got up and dusted themselves off.  
“We should hurry, I don’t want to miss the opening!” Lena, hyper as ever, grabbed Angela’s hand, running through the train station.   
Angie really liked the ambiance in those late nights in the train station. People asleep on the benches, or on their luggage, the brave, daring youth vomiting in the bins, getting chastised by the personnel, or the soldiers patrolling under the Sentinelle Act. 

Part-Dieu was a street away from Bellecour. They raced down the stairs, to the surprise of a few young men, trying to soothe the burn of alcohol in their system by laying in the fountains, which were luckily not turned on.   
They didn’t even have to raise their heads to know where the circus was. Loud music echoed through the street, along with a tremendous cheer, from a seemingly overhyped crowd. 

Their steps led them to the place, and the crowd that had formed there was nothing short of massive. All around the titanic place that was Bellecour, were decorations, poles challenging the height of the surrounding buildings, with various strips of coloured cloth twirling and joining the other poles in a whirlwind of undeniable beauty.   
Thankfully, the spectacle had not started yet.  
“Oh! Cotton Candy!” Exclaimed Lena, almost running to the small stall, dragging her friend along.   
“I’ll never get over how ridiculous its French name is. Barbapapa.” Angela shook her head, as her friend grabbed their sticks, handing her the extremely sugary candy.   
“C’mon, Angie, French is the language of love, shall I say it again?” Lena wiggled her eyebrow suggestively.  
“Do no-”  
“Omelette du fromage…” She winked, as if she had dropped the smoothest pickup line known to mankind.   
An exasperated sigh made them turn around.   
A woman, clad in tight, dark green leather, and what seemed to be a huge necklace made of various leaves, feathers, and flowers. Her hair, held back in a ponytail which showed her remarkably high cheekbones.   
“Omelette AU fromage.” Sighed the beautiful woman, walking past them, stopping to catch a side glance at the duo.  
“Jolies crocs, ma belle.” Grinned the Frenchwoman, fading into the crowd.  
“Angie, I’m pretty sure my ovaries just exploded.” Whined the brit with a shaky voice.   
“For fuck’s sake, Lena.”   
“Exploded!”   
“Oxton, your gay ass is the reason I can’t take you anywhere nice.” Angela sighed, and resumed trying to eat her cotton candy without having it stick to her fingers, which was frankly impossible.   
While her friend was off rambling about her ovaries getting destroyed by yet another woman, Angela dragged her towards the scene, trying to avoid running into people too much.   
“It’s about to start, snap out of it!” Chastised the blonde, lightly shaking her friend’s shoulders.   
All the lights suddenly went down.   
The crowd went dead silent, and thank God, Lena shut up.   
Various noises, resembling those of a forest rose from seemingly everywhere. There must’ve been some speakers hidden in the poles’ cloths.   
On the scene, rose poles looking like bamboo, in a dim cloud of smoke. The first men appeared. Clad in skin-tight blue costumes, with intricate patterns which looked like scales.   
They gracefully split across the stage, revealing a huge man, whom looked similar to Poseidon, wearing a similarly blue costume, however this one was cut at the torso, revealing an impressive chest covered in blue tattoos, which ran up to his neck, and got lost underneath his equally impressive beard, also covered in the aqua glyphs.   
He rose his voice. It was not a language Angela knew, though it did sound similar to a mix of Spanish, Italian, and a few hints of French. 

Then, the violins started to accompany him. The subtle melody was sublimed when cloths from the nearby polls were thrown onto the bamboos, as the acrobats started their hypnotizing dance, which consisted of intricate swirls and jumps, getting nearer to the public, studying them with their immense, child-like eyes, before promptly jumping back a few steps, as if they were afraid.   
Their arms moved in perfect harmony with the song, their long arms wrapped in foliage made them look like brisling bushes, moving with the wind.   
Then, a bright spotlight illuminated a pole on the other side of the Place. An acrobat was standing there, it didn’t take long for the two girls to recognize who it was.   
“It’s the ‘crocs’ girl!” Thought Angela.  
“It’s sugar-tits!” Exclaimed Lena, ever a one-track mind.   
A line from the pole she was currently standing on, with perfect pointes, as if she were a feline and not an actual human being, was linked to the main scene. Graceful as a feather slowly making its way towards the ground, quick as a leopard dashing on its prey, she pounced on the thin line.   
She rolled on it like it was solid ground, landing on the tight string, under the public’s delirious applause. Her skin, coloured in blue, seemed to sparkle under the limelight. She stopped for an instant, as if enraptured by the art flowing endlessly throughout her body. 

In that moment, to Lena ‘useless horny lesbian’ Oxton herself, she was much more than simply a pretty face, she was an ethereal vision of pure, unaltered beauty, as she fended through the air, not unlike a falcon seeking its prey. It felt as if her lungs exalted art, in each and every subtle puff she let slip, as she danced across the thin line, her naked feet strutting, carelessly taking dips, standing on one foot, as the other carelessly dangled in the void.   
“Woah,” Sighed Oxton, her eyes refusing to leave the entranced woman’s lithe figure dancing across the line, her very ears refusing to acknowledge the man starting to sing in the background.

“She looks…” She didn’t even finish her sentence, completely mesmerised.   
Angela didn’t dare to shake her friend out of her trance, instead turning around to follow the main attraction. The man whom spoke earlier was now singing, his loud voice booming through the audience, enrapturing, enchanting people who knew little to nothing of the quality of the performance they were currently experiencing.   
Because such a thing shan’t be qualified as a simple performance, nay, ‘twas an experience, one which touches your very essence, leaving it forever altered. The beauty of the spectacle, the sheer elegance, art was dripping everywhere, like honey from a lover’s lips. 

Angela was not exactly a patron of the arts. She was quite fond of them, sure, she even took an option in college, yet, no painting, no simple youtube video of a performance could ever match the feeling which flowed through her veins, drowning her sense with a feeling of everlasting satisfaction. Each artist, acrobat, every piece, foliage of the décor belonged there, it had a meaning, it had an IMPORTANCE. 

The dancers strutting along the stage, carrying their aforementioned colleagues, whom were once terrified by the public, were now dancing a breath away from them, standing on the brink of the stage. The public, even though they perfectly could have, did not dare to touch them.   
The imposing man strode forward on the scene, his glorious mane dyed in various shades of blue, aqua green and purple, his voice carrying the strength of the whole company.   
The dancer they had met earlier jumped on the platform, landing with a graceful bounce, followed by a salto, ending in the man outstretched arm.   
They swung their hips rhythm for a short while, before a sharp cry stopped the whole stage altogether. 

The artists looked around, jumping away from the crowd. The bamboos-like poles seemed to shake. Then, a creature, which resembled the chimera from the Greek Mythology, fell in the middle of the stage, forcing the imposing man and the gorgeous dancer to step away elegantly.   
“How many people are in this costume?” Wondered Lena, aloud.   
“Shhh…” Hushed Angela, entranced couldn’t move her eyes away from the scene.   
A man, shirtless, flaunting his flawless body, rock-solid abs enhancing an already entrancing silhouette. His dark skin was covered in white war paint, he was walking like a gladiator in an arena. He came to an eye-level with the chimera, growling loud enough for Angela and Lena to catch it from where they stood.   
He raised his fist, preparing to strike, but suddenly, both him and the beast knelt. A woman, clad in dark red and black from head to toe made her way between the both of them. Her face was covered by her hood, in her hands, she carried two lanterns, oozing purple smoke, adding to her already frightening aura. 

“We get it, you vape.” Snorted Lena, not even realising that Angela didn’t even hear a word she said, her eyes almost forgetting to blink, too focused on the spectacle.   
She dismissed the Gladiator with a flick of her wrist, before running her hand against the beast’s flank. The beast seemed to shudder, whining for everyone to hear. The impressive man left the blue-skinned acrobat, trying to push away the wraith-like creature from the distressed animal. 

With a twist of her finger, the man fell to his knees in front of her, as his comrades gasped in shock. She flicked his forehead, causing him to stumble backwards. She pointed an accusatory finger at the man, before gesturing to the blue skinned acrobat. The woman collapsed on the spot, her long hair falling over her face.   
The other dancers slowly stepped back, some of them running towards the poles, climbing them up, resting at the top like lemurs.   
Just one remained by the fallen dancer’s side, rocking her in his arms, seemingly weeping.   
The singer wailed, as the violins’ strings joined his voice, in a requiem-like mood. 

The hooded woman, with a lift of her pinkie, invited the fallen beauty to rise, which she did, grabbing her companion by the collar, effortlessly flipping him over, her hands around his throat, strangling him.   
The blue-skinned woman then joined the mysterious figure. The latter grabbed her smoke-oozing orb, bringing it to her lips, inhaling some of it, before letting the smoke go in the fallen beast’s nostrils.   
It promptly got up, its previously cream-coloured fur turning a twisted shade of grey, before charging an acrobat.   
He jumped over the ferocious beast, evading his hit. Its lion head roared at the public, before turning tail, exposing his back, which bore a goat head where his spine met its rear, and most importantly its tail, an enormous snake head, which hissed menacingly.   
“You know what this reminds me of. Eww, that’s why I’m a lesbian.” Commented Lena, still not deterred at her friend’s lack of response.   
The hooded lady offered the dancer her arm, and they left together, walking among the forest of bamboos, as the man, rose to his feet and raised his voice, now thunder-like. The artists, hanging on their perches, jumped to the ground, bouncing on their feet, as if there were springs underneath them.   
They started to run in circles around the singing man, the tempo increased, the hammering of the acrobats’ feet on the stage sounding like drums of war, as the impressive man’s voice grew louder and louder. 

The public saw a grapple falling in the middle of this mosh pit-like circle. The man, holding the line with a death grip, showing off his imposing musculature.   
The violins simply went insane, the musicians, appearing perched atop the poles all around Bellecour, in an orchestra of grief-fuelled wrath.   
He rose to an incredible height, the climax of the scene was his vertiginous fall. Right as he was about to hit the ground, the music stopped dead in its track with a final bang, the subjects fell to the ground, leaving him standing there, on one knee, his strong fist against the ground.   
The crowd was silent. He got up, his hair hiding on of his eye. He walked up to the end of the stage, standing on the edge.   
“This, is not the end,” He started, his shoulders heaving menacingly with each breath. 

“Merely the beginning!” As he ended his sentence, fire sprouted from the bamboo poles illuminating Place Bellecour.   
The lights remained for a few seconds, before the fire died down. The public was cheering, clapping enthusiastically.   
The whole stage was in the dark, before some dime lights revealed the whole cast, bowing to the audience.   
“Where’s the hot chick?” Asked Lena, looking frantically on stage. 

A noise similar to one of a zipper made them turn around instantly, ever so mindful of pickpockets.   
“Why, I do hope you meant ‘me’.” She was standing there, hands planted firmly on her hips. Lena was speechless, just looking at her up and down, in utter disbelief.   
“Your performance was incredible miss…?” Asked Angela, extending her hand, which the acrobat shook with in a most firm handshake.   
“Amélie.” Confidence was practically oozing off of her.   
“A pleasure Amélie, I am Angela, and this is Lena.” She pointed to her lust-struck friend.   
The brit seemed to regain her composure, extending her hand, expecting a handshake. But the Frenchwoman gently took her hand, bringing her lips to her knuckle, leaving a feather-light kiss upon it.   
“Heureuse de faire ta connaissance, ma belle.” She smirked, as Lena sported 50 shades of red on her face, ears and neck.  
“The mine is the pleasure.” Blurted out Lena, to Angela and Amélie’s hilarity.   
The acrobat reached in her more than generous cleavage, to reveal a sticky note. It had a number written on it.   
“Gérard is going to give out a speech, it should cover the basics, I do hope to see you around at the Moon Circus.” She stuck the note on the gay mess’ cheek, before kissing the other one, pretty close to her lips. 

She turned around, raised her arm to a nearby pole, and grappled away.   
“I hate to see her leave, but bloody hell do I love to watch her go.” Whispered Lena, in awe.   
“For fuck’s sake.” Sighed Angela, recovering the sticky note before the brit could forget about it.   
The man Angela had seen earlier appeared on stage in a cloud of smoke. 

“Ladies and gentlemen! We are delighted to hear that you appreciated our opening! However, I must inform you of a most tragic news for us, but a truly interesting opportunity for you! Due to the snow blocking the air traffic, a lot of our artists had to cancel. If you have any particular skill, visit us next Sunday for the auditions. Weeeeelcome to the Moon Circus!” His moustache moved with each word he said, speaking in a microphone bearing a similar one. The crowd cheered some more, as paper and leaflets flew across the sky, shot by some cannons which were hidden under the stage. 

Lena caught one, looking it over with interest.   
“Want to apply, Lena?” Angie looked over her friend’s shoulder.  
“You could, I mean, you’d be bound to earn more than you do at that crappy MacDonald’s. Didn’t you study this before?” Asked the brit, stroking her chin thoughtfully.   
“I studied Les Arts Du Cirques back in Switzerland, yes, but I am afraid my level of skill is not what they’re looking for.”   
“There’s a role you’d be perfect for.” Stated Lena, showing her the leaflet.   
“And what would that be?”   
“La fille du soleil.”   
“Your French is fucking awful, Lena.”


End file.
